


Rehabilitation

by I_Am_A_Silver_Lining



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Blowjobs, Face-Fucking, M/M, Megatron is a gentle boi, Multiple chapters, Optimus is a little shit, Optimus is kinky, Rehabilitation(?), Smut, So is Megatron, Underwear, face fucking sounds too harsh, flustered megatron, lots of frills, maid megatron, maid outfit, more like face lovin, post-show, slight bdsm (hands are in cuffs)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_A_Silver_Lining/pseuds/I_Am_A_Silver_Lining
Summary: With the war over, Optimus and his earth team hailed as heroes, and the biggest, baddest Decepticons in prison, what now? Both Megatron and Optimus are in for a surprise when the Council gives them two choices: Megatron’s execution or rehabilitation through servitude to Optimus. Megatron, rather than be humiliated at a death by Autobot hands, chooses the latter, giving Optimus an opportunity to dish out his own form of revenge for all Megatron had done to him and his team(Multiple chapters) (based off fan-art)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off fan-art made by Rosey-Raven on Deviantart  
> http://fav.me/d634v5z  
> This is a commission i did for someone on Devianart :3

**Title** : Rehabilitation 

**Characters:** Optimus, Megatron

**Summary:** With the war over, Optimus and his earth team hailed as heroes, and the biggest, baddest Decepticons in prison, what now? Both Megatron and Optimus are in for a surprise when the Council gives them two choices: Megatron’s execution or rehabilitation through servitude to Optimus. Megatron, rather than be humiliated at a death by Autobot hands, chooses the latter, giving Optimus an opportunity to dish out his own form of revenge for all Megatron had done to him and his team, 

**Rating:** M to be safe

 

There were many things in life that Megatron was certain of: one) that he was the rightful ruler of the Decepticons, two) that he would one day reclaim Cybertron for the Decepticons, and three) that if he had one wish, it would be to be able to burn Optimus Prime to a crisp with only his optics. 

This cycle had not gone well for him, not only was he a captive of the weakling Autobots, this cycle was his “hearing” where he was certain that he’d be publicly executed as a statement of power by these idiotic, naive bots. But not only did that not happen, something completely unthinkable had occurred; he was given a choice. Shocking, yes, these moronic, glitch-infested bots had the capability in their puny processors to come up with something even more degrading than deactivation by their servos. 

Megatron had been given a choice, in front of all of Cybertron: be offlined or rehabilitation through indentured servitude. What really ground his gears was to whom he’d be “given” to. When the council had called the name “Optimus Prime”, Megatron had to forcibly reboot his processors to keep from glitching. He had turned his fiery glare upon the named Auto-brat and refused to look away. The only consolation to this utter humiliation was the fact that the Prime looked equally baffled and disgusted as Megatron felt. The Prime had tried to speak up and oppose, but the leader of the council, Alpha Trion, had already slammed down his gavel and made the order official. 

Megatron had been led away and placed back into his holding cell to await pick up from his new “master”. 

That led to where he was currently at, staring through the forcefield at Optimus Prime, who he oh-so-wished would spontaneously combust. 

He could see Prime was unnerved, but the Autobot hid it well. He could see it in the way the Prime shifted his weight and how he wouldn’t meet his optics. The Autobot was the first to break the silence. 

“Look, i know you are not happy about this-”

“Now what would give you that idea, Autobot?” Megatron cut him off, his voice filled with so much sarcasm it was almost fatal. Optimus huffed, his optical brows pinching together. 

“Look, maybe we can work something out…”

“Ah yes, “work something out”. Tell me Autobot, just what do you have planned, hm? Just what do you think I want that you can offer to get me to agree to anything? The Council mechs who hold the other end of your leash won't let you give me anything I could possibly want.” his voice was a low and dangerous purr, his optics glaring at the autobot in the darkness. 

Optimus frowned looking down at the axe he was clutching in his servos. Grabbing it a little tighter, he looked up into the burning red optics. 

“I can’t give you anything you want.” He said, earning a sarcastic ‘Obviously’ from the caged Warlord. “But we can make this as painless as possible and try to… be civil with one another.”

“Civil, yes. As I'm tied in chains and you’re pointing a weapon at me. As you command,  **_Master._ ** ” Optimus could actually feel the sarcasm of Megatron’s words hit him like a punch in the face. The Prime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge, a bad human habit he had picked up while on Earth.

“Just come on.” Optimus said wearily, opening the cell and grabbing a tool from the wall, one that would latch onto the cuffs so Optimus could steer Megatron from a safe distance. Optimus purposefully avoided other bots while he directed Megatron to a transport in the back of the building. Ever since the Council had made the public announcement about Megatron being “rehabilitated” under his care, he had been non-stop harassed by every media bot within a hundred mile radius. They had been on his aft like white on rice (a strange saying he had heard Sari use a few times, but it seemed appropriate for this. But what was ‘rice’?).

Megatron didn’t put up too much of a fight, no doubt imagining the many different ways he could kill the Prime and the Council with his only his servos or making a plan of escape. Optimus’s servos tightened on the rod.

They arrived to the transport with no one seeing them, a small miracle that made Optimus huff out a sigh as he nudged the larger mech into the shuttle. 

“The Council has ordered me to take you to a secure location during your rehabilitation.” Optimus said to Megatron, who ignored him. He shifted in his seat, feeling the anger that filled Megatron’s field like a thunderstorm. 

Optimus had to admit, he was a lot less nervous around Megatron that he should have been. The mech still made Optimus go on high alert, of course, he’d be a fool not to be cautious every click around him; however, he didn’t feel the fear he once did. Maybe it was the ultra-strength industrial grade stasis cuffs around Megatron’s wrists, or maybe it was that he knew how to fight him, or even the Matrix of Leadership, which now sat in his chassis. But that was another story. But Optimus was sure that had to deal with the Council's decision with to whom to place Megatron with. He was glad only a handful of bots knew he had the Matrix. 

The shuttle ride was over in an hour and Optimus quickly steared Megatron into the building the shuttle was parked behind. 

After the announcement of Megatron’s new custody arrangement, it was seen to that Optimus was given a place that could contain the former warlord; somewhere large, well guarded (but not by anything sentient), and away from the main population. It was good on paper, but this meant that Optimus was alone with Megatron, hours away from backup. He could ask some of his team to come, but all of them had already settled back into life on Cybertron, had jobs or training to go to and Optimus didn’t have the spark to take them away from that and put them in constant contact with the mech that had been constantly trying to kill them during their time on Earth. 

He hoped they’d visit at least.  

The place was larger than he had thought, with reinforced walls and doors that needed optic and servo scans to open. It was a little over the top, in his opinion, but it was Megatron he was dealing with, so he wouldn’t complain. 

“How inordinate” Megatron’s voice startled Optimus out of his thoughts. 

Optimus looked up “This is where we are going to rehabilitate you.” he said with an air of confidence. Megatron peered down at him a devilish look in his optics. 

“I dare you to try.”

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Now Optimus considered himself to be a very patient, forgiving mech. He was sure that if he was able to deal with Bumblebee for stellar cycles, he was able to get through anything without breaking a coolant sweat.

He was wrong.

Oh so very wrong.

“How exactly were you able to throw a couch through the reinforced ceiling?” Optimus asked, his servos pressed together in front of his face like he was praying to Primus to give him strength not activate the stasis lock on Megatron’s cuffs and just leave him there. 

“I have absolutely no clue as to what you are referring, Autobot.” Megatron purred in a smug voice. Optimus gave a pointed look to the (obviously) guilty mech, who was sitting on the floor, since their couch was currently halfway through the ceiling above them. 

“Really?” Optimus said, sarcasm trickling in his voice even though he was trying hard not to. Megatron just smirked at him, the sides of his lips curling smugly like a turbo-cat who had just push an expensive glass off the side of table. A brief flash of Megatron with cat ears made him shake his helm to dispel the thought. 

It had only been a few weeks since Megatron had been in his custody, and he had been raising Pit wherever he possibly could. A couch in the ceiling (how the frag did he get it up there?), one leg of every chair broken off, and every dish they had was bent out of shape just to name a few. Optimus could no longer enjoy a cube of energon without having to use a funnel to get the liquid in the cube.

It wasn’t Megatron just breaking stuff either. Unless you counted Optimus will not to bash him over the helm. He’d keep Optimus up all night, banging on the walls, making scratching noises, and when Optimus would go to see what the frag he was doing, the damn mech would pretend he had been sleeping the whole time, and chew Optimus out for waking him. 

Optimus was really on his last leg of patience. How exactly was he going to explain how a couch got through 3 layers of reinforced cybronium plating to the repair bots? 

Optimus internally screamed into the void, his fingers tapping against forhelm, his fingers still pressed together in front of his face. He stopped the tapping to look at the smug Decepticon leader. 

“You are going to clean this up.” Optimus ordered, motioning to the rubble all over the floor. Optimus was slightly hesitant to really order Megatron around and had been avoiding doing so during the weeks they had been here together. But now, he could see he needed to. 

Megatron scoffed, leaning back against the wall and closing his optics to ignore him. Optimus frowned, his arms crossing. 

“That is an order.” Megatron continued to ignore him and Optimus’ optic twitched. “Megatron, if you don’t listen to me, I’m going to have to punish you.” This got Megatron’s optics open, a look of challenge deeply set in the red. 

“Oh really, Autobot?” Megatron said, challenge in his voice. Really, what could this Autobot do? Chain him up? Torture? Stasis? Megatron could handle whatever this little brat could throw his way. Megatron laughed out loud, mockingly to the Prime.

“I’m not your maid, Autobot.” he spit out, his optics closing again. “You clean it up yourself.”

Megatron didn’t see the calculating, devilish look in Optimus’s optics.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Megatron remembered when he had challenged that stupid, unworthy-to-lick-his-peds Autobrat. A part of him was regretful of that, that deep part of him that didn’t know how evil this Prime really was. The punishment the mech had in mind was nothing Megatron could have ever thought of, something so cruel and disgusting he wouldn’t wish it upon Starscream! What mech in their right processor would think of such a punishment? Not even the worst of Decepticons, not even him!

Megatron pulled at frilled cloth around his thighs, a hateful look in his optics as he found out his cuffs didn’t let him rip it to shreds off his frame. 

Optimus stood in front of him, smartly out of reach of the pissed Decepticon. One arm was crossed against his chassis, holding up the other arm which’s servo was currently cupping his chin. He looked like a critic overlooking designer armor plating or a piece of art, and quite frankly, it made Megatron both pissed and slightly uncomfortable (which only made him even more pissed). 

Optimus, however, was rather pleased with himself. It wasn’t his normal form of punishment, for sure, but he knew that nothing else would affect Megatron.

Revenge was sweet. 

Optimus was rather surprised when he had been able to find the frilly pink and purple maid outfit to purchase close in Megatron’s size. He had to adjust some of the proportions with what little sewing knowledge he had, and he had to put Megatron in stasis lock to get the outfit on him and adjust the pressure sensors on the cuffs so he wouldn’t rip it off himself. It was a lot of work, but Optimus knew it was worth every second just to see the look on Megatron’s face when he undid the stasis lock and when Megatron found out he couldn’t rip it off. 

Optimus would save the datafile of Megatron’s facial expression for eons to come. The little frilled bonnet that he put on Megatron’s helm was the icing on the oilcake and he had to hold his breath not to laugh. 

Megatron bared his teeth at the wheezing Prime, who’s face was turning an alarming shade of blue. 

“I will enjoy ending your pathetic life, Autobot” Megatron snarled, his hateful gaze turning from the optic-watering pink and purple maid outfit to Optimus. 

“None of that,” Optimus said, a sly smirk on his face, “Or I’ll punish you even more.” Megatron growled but said nothing more, unwilling to see how this cruel mech could make this ‘punishment’ even worse. 

Optimus was feeling a bit giddy, though he’d never admit it outloud. He had a leg up on Megatron, finally something to keep Megatron from bending his cutlery or keeping him up all hours of the night.  

“Now,” Optimus said seriously, keeping his voice even and vacant of his deep amusement, “you are going to go clean up the mess you made.” Megatron snarled loudly, his teeth showing. 

“As if I’d lower myself to-” Megatron’s words were cut off as Optimus pulled out a small device. 

A camera.

“You wouldn't.” Optimus didn’t hold back his smile this time.

“Try me.” 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

It had been a solid month and a half and Megatron was still wearing the cursed maid outfit. Megatron had done everything he could to get rid of it: spilled oil on it, purposefully ripped it on corners, splashing cleaning solutions on it to bleach it, etc. He had tried everything, but that damn Prime had extras made apparently and was more than ready to put him into stasis and manhandle him into another. 

And that was another thing.

The Prime had been getting awfully handsy lately. 

It was infuriating. At first it seemed accidental, like a servo brushing across his back as he picked up something the Prime (purposefully) dropped. But lately the Prime had been getting bolder and bolder. He was not touching anywhere private, but areas like his thighs and lower back where it was damn near close.

Megatron told him to frag off multiple times, and Optimus would give him a smug smirk and say he had ‘absolutely no clue as to what he was referring’, mocking what he had said after the couch incident. He was getting frustrated. No one dared to make such bold moves upon his person amongst his fellow Decepticons. He was respected, revered, and here he was, getting groaped by an Autobot not even half his size. He was no stranger to fragging, but this was infuriating!  Especially since every time the puny Autobot did anything he had that damn smirk on his face. 

This whole situation was humiliating. Not only was he a captive of the disgraceful Autobots, he was also a slave (for all intents and purposes), forced to wear the damn maid outfit, and he was being felt up by the Prime who cause it all! It made Megatron’s deep-seated desire to incinerate the Prime climb to an even higher level.

And Megatron would never EVER admit to the reactions his frame had to the Prime’s touches.

Ever. 

Megatron grumbled as he picked up a few cubes of energon and placed them onto a tray. Another humiliating task he was appointed was bringing the Autobot his energon. The Prime was lucky that there was nothing poisonous in the whole building or else he’d he drooling on the floor by now. 

Megatron grumbled more as he picked up the tray and walked into the other room where Optimus was buffing out the scuffs in his axe and was currently working on the handle. The scuffs had come from Megatron chucking the weapon into the garbage compactor when Optimus hadn’t been looking. It had beaten the axe into a pretzel when Optimus had finally fished it from the machine, and it took Optimus cycles to bend the dents out of the metal. As punishment, Megatron was forced to wear more ridiculous cloth on his person. A frilly purple piece of cloth that covered his interface panel it the most unflattering of ways. He was sure he heard the Autobot call them ‘undergarments’ or something close. It was ridiculous looking and wounded Megatron’s pride more than he was willing to admit. Megatron promised to himself to gouge the optics out of any mech that saw him like this, starting with the Prime.

Optimus glanced up as Megatron walked into the room, a small smirk tugging on his lips, but said nothing. Neither did Megatron, who just glared at the smug mech with a mix of loathing and nerved anticipation. 

“Just a moment,” Optimus said, breaking the silence. “I have almost finished buffing out the scratches.” he turned back to the handle of the axe, pressing the rage back against the metal to buff out the scuffs. 

Optimus’s thumb accidently hit the button that made the weapon’s handle extend. It was an honest mistake, but Optimus didn’t bother making that apparent when handle extended at an angle that lifted the edge of the maid dress and exposed the frilly underwear he made Megatron wear. Megatron, who had been desperately trying to forget about the cursed undergarments existence, made a noise between an ‘ack’ and a growl as he pushed down the side of the outfit, a part of him feeling scandalized under the Prime’s smug grin that curled the sides of his lips up like a turbo-cat. 

“Hm, those undergarments are very flattering on your figure, I should have thought of them sooner.” Optimus teased to and embarrassed Megatron. Megatron growled, red dusting his cheeks as he glared daggers at Optimus. 

“If I didn’t have these cuffs on, I’d render you limb from limb.” the snubbed mech growled. Optimus tisked. 

“That isn’t very nice, Megatron. Perhaps my punishments are not getting through to you?” Optimus couldn’t help the purr that came to his voice as he stood, his otics hooded in a sultry threat. Megatron shifted and looked at him with narrowed optics, hissed at him like a wild animal as Optimus advanced. 

Megatron was quite unprepared for when Optimus lept at him. He was expecting the Prime to come at him, yes, but he wasn’t expecting the oaf to fragging JUMP at him. Megatron quickly ducked out of the way, throwing the tray in the air and sprinting away before he could be into some other ridiculous costume the demented Prime had in his closet. 

Optimus really didn’t have a plan in mind, he just wanted to throw Megatron off his game. He didn’t plan on chasing Megatron through the building whilst the other spit out curses of his and the Autobot’s destruction. It was a little ridiculous, but Optimus thought it was more than worth it to see the leader of the Decepticons running around in frilly maid outfit, the wind from his running kicking up the back of the dress and exposing the frilled underwear for anybot to see. 

Thankfully for the Decepticon, it was just the two of them in the building.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Two weeks later and Megatron was getting paranoid. He knew he was probably overreacting, but he didn’t give a damn at the moment as he looked around the corner to see if the Prime was there. He berated himself for his paranoia of the damn Prime, he was the leader of the fragging Decepticons for Pits sake! And if the Prime showed his face after what he’d been doing Megatron would deck him in the face!

He could lie to himself as much as he wanted, but if Optimus showed up, Megatron would run in the other direction. 

It wasn’t that he feared the Prime, oh frag no, he’d rip him into tiny pieces if he had the chance. No, it wasn’t that he feared what the Prime would do, it was what he feared  **he’d** do. 

Megatron cursed under his breath, walking down the hall to the kitchens to get energon since his tanks were low. 

Optimus had been as bold as ever, his touches not stopping but thankfully not going anywhere too inappropriate. The Prime had even gone as far as to kiss the back of one of his servos at one point. What made him angry was how he was beginning to fragging _ like _ it. It pissed Megatron off to no end on how his frame’s temperature would go up in a couple degrees when the Prime smirked smugly at him during a trade of wits. Or when Megatron began to look forward to the touches the Prime gave him. 

Megatron grumbled as he filled a cube and sipped at it, enjoying the taste of pure energon, which was hard to come by when he had been in space. Megatron pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensors, a bad habit he picked up from Optimus. 

He absolutely detested the thoughts that snuck into his processor lately, and he was sure to vent his anger on the furniture and other things in the building. Megatron wouldn’t call it a tantrum, but after one particular incident where Megatron threw yet another couch through the ceiling, Optimus did, and it pissed him off enough to try and throw the Prime through the ceiling, too. 

That incident was another reason he was hiding from the damn Prime. Optimus had returned a few hours ago from an errand run with a large box in his servos and that tale-tell smug smirk on his face told everything Megatron needed to know of just what was in it. So he was avoiding him. 

He was NOT hiding from him. 

He grumbled again. This place, the Autobot, was driving him mad. He needed to get out, not that he hadn’t already tried and been thwarted by the damn Prime and the security systems. Megatron retreated to the room he was given to formulate a plan. 

No matter what that damn Prime did to him or how his frame reacted, he would escape and return to his fellow Decepticons and reclaim his rightful place. He would conquer Cybertron and the Autobots with it. 

Perhaps he’d keep the Prime alive and as his slave. Megatron laughed at his thoughts. Yes, that sounded like a sound plan. And then Megatron would return every humiliating moment the Prime had caused him. He’d make Prime wear that fragging maid outfit. Megatron’s lips curled into a grin not unlike the Prime’s had been before. 

He’d make him wear the undergarments, too. But first, Megatron had to escape his imprisonment. 

It was only a matter of time. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Great Escape, and Megatron is pissy.

Title: Rehabilitation 

Chapter 2: 

 

It was by the grace of Primus or the curse of Unicron that Megatron didn’t have to wait too much longer to escape his ‘indentured servitude’ to the insane Prime. His opportunity came after nine months in the Prime’s “care”. 

See, Megatron was never one to take things lying down, especially when it came packaged with an imbecile who’d Megatron was sure would like nothing better. He was like a caged turbo-tiger who thirsted for the thrill of the hunt, and, even now, Megatron’s arms itched for the tingle of a firing proton cannon. Megatron had somewhat quelled his urges by his rukas, but throwing and smashing furniture got old and boring quickly. So he found other ways to state his urges. 

Megatron had found out a way around the pressure sensors on the stasis cuffs. The sensors that kept him from ripping of the fragging maid outfit and undergarments also kept him from smashing or denting through things with his fists. It didn’t keep him from throwing things, of course, but when he wanted to punch through a wall, his arm joints would slowly lock up until he was barely tapping it. It was extremely annoying and frustrating. 

But, as said before, Megatron had found a way around it and it was stupidly easy once he did. 

Using a bit of the physics he had learned from Shockwave’s and Starscream’s blabbering back in the early days of the Great War, Megatron was able to make a small lever like device that, when he applied all the pressure the cuffs would allow, would push through the first layers of metal in the walls. He tested it on a few areas in the building, spacing them out to look inconspicuous. It worked like a charm, and Megatron was able to get to the wires underneath the metal. 

The stars seemed to shine in the Warlord’s favor, for not long after, Optimus was called away for the entire solar cycle. Something about ‘Prime’ and a ‘Big chinned glitch’ or something. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Megatron had a perfect opportunity to escape. 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Megatron bided his time, acting his normal grumpy self as Optimus prepared for his day in the city. The Prime seemed to be taking his sweet time, reluctance to attend whatever duty he was ordered to do radiated off his frame in waves as he shuffled his peds around the building. 

Megatron eyed him out of the side of his optic as he sat on the couch, purposefully nudging a full cube of energon until it dangerously teetered off the side of the table, then knocked it off the side just like an evil turbo-cat would. 

Optimus gave him a half sparked glare, not in the mood to deal with two annoyances in one solar cycle. Sentinel would be a handful enough, he didn’t want to spare the computing to deal with Megatron’s temper tantrums. Almost as if he could hear Optimus’ thoughts, Megatron began to sulk, glowering at him from the couch at his lack of reaction. 

Optimus grabbed the last bit of data work he needed for his meeting in the city before turning to Megatron. 

“Now Megatron,” Optimus began, enticing a growl from the named mech. “Behave yourself, and if the building is in good order when i get back, I might be nice enough to remove some of the clothing for a bit.” Megatron said nothing, just let out a huff of air and turned to face away from him. Optimus shook his helm, “Just be good.” he said before walking out of the building, checking the security system, confident that he could leave Megatron alone for the time it took to get the meeting over and done with. 

In the building, Megatron smiled. 

Megatron wasted no time, as soon as he heard the fade of the Prime’s engine in the distance. He pulled out his device and moved over to the front doors, uncaring of the cameras tracking his every move, they would be deactivated soon. He wedged the end in between two of the panels and pushed on the lever, with just a bit more force that normal, Megatron was able to rip a hole into the metal; however, it was a small hole, barely big enough to get one of his digits in. Megatron worked for some time, wasting precious clicks prying open a hole he could stick his large servo in. Once he was finally able to make the hole, Megatron reached in and fiddled with some wires, attaching red to green and blue to purple in various patterns so he wouldn’t trip the alarm once he opened the doors. 

Megatron let his chassis swell with pride when the light above the door turned green instead of red. Before pulling the door open, Megatron needed to get the cuffs off. Using the same device, Megatron wedged the end into the locking mechanism and pushed, and (with a surprising about of force needed) the cuffs broke and clunked to the ground. Megatron barked out a laugh of glee as he ripped the cursed maid outfit and undergarments to unrecognizable shreds, allowing himself the pleasure even though it wasted more time. 

Megatron took a deep ventilation after he finished his small (barely noticeable) meltdown. A small voice whined in the back of his processor that he could have taken the garments with him. Megatron crushed that voice with the fiery rage and determination of a thousand fiery suns before banishing into the furthest and darkest corner of his processor.

Megatron took off across the landscape, headed in the direction of the prison he knew had some well-fortified space ships.

Oh, and his decepticon underlings. 

It took him just under an jour to make it to the jail, and under half of that to break out his Decepticons by starting a massive prison riot to distract the guards. Finding a ship to get them off of Cybertron was the hard part, most Autobot ships were too small and cramped for their larger Decepticon frames to fit. They ended up hijacking a larger Autobot Elite ship.

“Get your afts in gear!” Megatron roared to his underlings as they scrambled to the controls, each more than eager to get off the Autobot infested planet. As Megatron could have guessed, getting off planet was far more difficult than it was breaking them out of jail. Large, sparkling new laser turrets orbited in Cybertron’s atmosphere, no doubt commissioned shortly after the Decepticons near invasion of the planet. The lasers shot past them like a rainstorm of colors. A shot grazed the hull and rocked the ship hard enough to knock most of the cons off their feet. Megatron grunted, his hip bashing into the terminal as he was knocked off his feet. He steadied himself, yelling to the other.

“Get up! Get up you fools!” He yelled, his teeth bared in a snarl. The others climbed to their peds in a hurry, punching buttons and pulling levers to assess the damage to the hull and swerve out of the way from incoming shots. 

Everything was a flurry of movements and lights as they passed between two large turrets and headed straight towards the space bridge. Blitzwing, in his Icy personality, hacked quickly into the space bridge’s system. Unable to set a course to anywhere specific due to time, Blitzwing just opened the bridge to the last location it accessed. 

The bridge before them burst to life, the large round sphere of energy crackling dangerously. Megatron roared for the others to up the engines to full throttle and to ‘get them the frag out of there’, to which the other Decepticons happily complied. Pushing the engine to max without going into hyperdrive, they rocketed towards the space bridge, turrets hot on their afts lighting them up like fireworks. Somewhere, someone, probably Blitzwing, cackled madly as the ship groaned in protest under the heavy fire and strain on the engine. 

Megatron was fairly certain that everyone, including himself, were yelling loudly as the ship slowly fell to pieces around them. Blue light filled his optics as they finally collided with the spacebridge. 

Pulled apart atomicly, the fragments of their beings bent through space and time as the space bridge pulled them to their unknown destination towards freedom.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

“OF ALL THE PIT-FORSAKEN PLANETS FOR US TO END UP ON WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE THIS ONE!” Megatron screamed in rage, steam curling from his processor (he should get that checked) as he stared at the infuriatingly blue planet that glared at him through the windows. He was more than ready to start bashing some helms, starting with Blitzwing who stared at him with his crazy face present, who was giggling like mad about fishes or something. 

Megatron seethed, every part of his frame burning in rage at this unwelcome coincidence. If there was any planet he hated more than this one it’d come as a surprise. Nothing was more of a salt in the wound than seeing the planet that he had been so humiliated upon. 

“LUGNUT” Megatron yelled, his faithful servant snapping to attention. “Bring us down to the surface without killing us.” he hissed. He was well aware that there was no other option than to land on the Primus-forsaken planet, the ship was damaged too severely. 

“Yes my Lord! I will do as you command!” Lugnut proclaimed before turning and, with an unsurprising lack of grace, smashed his fist into the console, breaking it. Lights blared as the ship’s AI spoke:

“SYSTEMS CRITICAL: GRAVITY STABILIZERS OFF”

Megatron hadn’t even a chance to yell at the fool before he was yanked from his seat as the ship was caught in the planet’s gravity and pulled to the surface. For the second time that cycle Megatron found himself clutching the terminal in front of him as the ship rocketed to an unknown destination. 

 

It was much much later when Megatron powered back online. The warlord heaved out a groan as he reached up to cradle his severely aching helm. Opening his optics Megatron could see that he was in the center of a rather large crater. A little ways off in the distance he could see the smoking pieces of the ship he had been in, a very large hole in the top explaining why he was on the outside rather than inside the wreckage. 

“Ugh, frag,” Megatron grumbled, sitting up. Looking at himself he could tell he was in for one hell of a cycle. His chassis was severely mangled and he could see pieces of circrity poking out from under dented armor. His left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle and he was missing pieces of his armor on both of his legs and arms. Cursing under his breath, Megatron pushed himself to stand, easily ignoring the pain in his left leg as he did. He reached down and grabbed both sides of his broken leg and with a hard snap, he aligned the broken strut into place.

Megatron tested his weight on his broken leg to see if it would hold enough to get him across the landscape to the ship. With a huff of annoyance, he started off. He spent the next half cycle fishing his Decepticons and any salvageable parts from the debris.

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

It was months before anything notable happened. The Decepticons remained on Earth to lick their wounds, the physical and egotistical. It the time they had been on Earth, one of the only fortunate things to happen was Lugnut finding them a base. Megatron still clearly remembered when Lugnut had showed him:

 

_ “This new base is… usable.” Megatron muttered after Lugnut, the oaf, had presented his finding to him like an eager puppy with an overly large, ugly, broken stick. Megatron looked around at the shoddy cave with no small amount of distaste. Bones littered the floor and crunched under Megatron’s peds as he walked, small Earth mammals hung from the ceiling and had the most horrid of smells, slime covered the walls and there was a great deal of water and muck on the ground. First thing he’d be doing is making his underlings clean this place out. At Least it was tall enough for him to stand up fully. _

 

It took days to clean, and weeks to air out the scent. Even now Megatron could catch the faint whiff of organic feces in the base, making his face cringe into an unpleasant expression. Not that he wasn’t always baring one of those, being trapped on Earth made his smirks (because vicious Warlords did NOT smile) very rare. His Decepticon underlings gave him a wide bubble of space whenever they were in the same room as he was, especially after he wiped the floor with Blitzwing after his Crazy personality pushed one too many buttons. 

One good thing that went right was the arrival of several new Decepticons shortly after their arrival (*cough cough*crashlanding*cough cough*) on Earth. 

Breakdown, Knockout (thank Primus they finally have a decent medic), and all of Team Chaar which included Strika, Blackout, Cyclonus, Oil Slick, and Spittor. The extra servos around base where much needed in the renovation and cleaning, even if Lugnut had his helm up his aft whenever Strika walked into the room. It was more than obvious who wore the metaphorical pants in the relationship with how she bossed him around and he listened without hesitation. Megatron was forever mentally scared when he walked into the main room of the base and caught the two messily interfacing on the floor in front of his newly constructed throne. 

Safe to say, Megatron never sat on his throne after that, the memories would always lurk up of that day and Megatron would have to fight from losing his rations. He now had no doubt in his processor who was “on top,” even if the thought made his tanks clench unpleasantly. 

Things truly went to slag about 6 months into their stay on Earth, when the Autobots finally caught up to them. The fact that the team sent after them was lead by that tiny, annoying little red and blue Prime was like being doused in acid. The only benefit to the temper tantrum Megatron had after he found out was that they had a new entrance to their base after he threw a large piece of machinery so hard that it broke through the cave wall. 

The Prime seemed all too smug the first time he met Megatron in battle. And all too… handzy. 

As soon as the Autobots were sited, the Prime came right at him full force. His team of Autobots was larger than before, Megatron couldn't get a good count on them, but it was obvious they were outnumbered. But by the look of how the battle progressed, definitely not outmatched. Prime was a good fighter, Megatron would give him that, he was enough of a hand-to-hand combatant to drive him back away from the main craze of the fight into a more secluded corner of the clearing. It was then that the Prime changed battle tactics, which completely threw Megatron off his games, especially since the Prime’s new battle tactic consisted of groping   whatever bit of sensitive metal he could get his servos on. To say Megatron was flustered by the end of it would be an understatement. 

The first servo that brushed his hip was easily written off as an accident, fighting close quarters, they were bound to touch when moving. Right? The second touch, on his thigh, wasn’t as easily ignored, and Megatron gave the Prime a good jab in the shoulder joint for it. The third touch was when Megatron knew it was intentional, no bot’s servo slid that way to cup an aft ‘accidentally.’ Megatron was absolutely furious at the Autobot’s audacity, how dare he touch the Leader of the Decepticons as if he was some sort of pleasure mech or sexual partner! How dare he make bedroom optics at him! And rev his engines purposefully loud! How dare he make his internal temperature skyrocket to the point his fans activated!

At this point Megatron wasn’t sure if he was speaking about himself or the Prime, and cursed himself for it. He very much wished he could elbow drop the Prime in the jugular, maybe that would stop his infuriating chuckles whenever Megatron’s fans kicked up another notch. 

Megatron would never admit that he ran from that fight with his tail between his legs, dodging out of the fight like the fire of the Pits was on his aft. 

This is what led Megatron to where he was at the current moment, in his chambers, pacing. 

Megatron let out a string of curses, his processor reeling over everything that had happened within the last 48 Earth hours. The Prime was crazy, simple enough. Absolutely mad, there was no doubt in Megatron’s processor of this. No bot dared to touch him in such a… brash way. Honestly, Megatron didn’t know how to conduct himself in this situation. How the frag does a Warlord fight off a brash Prime who didn’t know how to keep his greasy paws to himself? Megatron was more than happy to get all his frustration out when beating the crap out of the Autobot pest, but his rage seemed like a never-ending pool of loathing hatred and infuriatingly dirty thoughts. 

This was getting to him. Why was he letting this get to him? Maybe it was because he actually like- NOT… did not like it what was happening… not one bit! 

Megatron felt like flipping a table, but he was stuck internally screaming into the void. So he continued to pace the room, running a grove into the stone floor where he walked back and forth repeatedly. Megatron fought the urge to bang his helm into the wall repeatedly until the strange, dirty thoughts that lurked at the edges of his processor were permanently wiped from his mind. Those dirty little thoughts that had him wondering what it would be like to reciprocate those touches the Prime gave him, turn the tables on the Autobot and give him a taste of his own medicine!

A small, tiny, itsy bitsy part of Megatron’s processor that gleefully leapt at that idea was growing, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not push it back. He began to really think on what would happen if he let himself go and embraced the rising heat in his frame. Touch the Prime in more ways that just beating the ever-living slag out of him. Push him down and see if he could wipe that smirk off his face. Or maybe… just maybe… let the Prime take the lead...

Megatron reeled away from the thought like he was burned.

NO! 

NO  **NO NO** **_NO NO!!!_ **

Megatron roared and punched the wall with all his force, the whole room shaking with the force of it. He would NEVER interface with an Autobot!! Let alone a Prime! The very Prime that hand-delivered him to Cybertron bound in cuffs and gagged. The humiliation he suffered at the servos of that damn Prime would not continue! He’d kill him, oh he WAS going to kill him, and he was going to enjoy it! 

Megatron bit out a snarl, his optic flaring as his temper raised, his humiliation fueling his all-consuming rage. 

There was a knock on his door.

“ **WHAT?** ” Megatron roared, ripping the sliding door open with enough force to snap the metal under his servos. The Decepticon before him, ‘Blackout’ he thought, coward before him, looking like he severely regretted knocking on his Lord’s door. 

“My-my Lord! The Autobots, they-they-they…” Blackout stuttered under the intense gaze of the Warlord. 

“Spit it out.” Megatron hisses, none too happy about being disturbed, even more so since it was Autobot-related. 

“TheAutobotsleftsomethingintheclearingandit’sadressedtoyou!!” Blackout squeaked out, cowering away from the looming Megatron. Megatron grit his teeth, fighting the urge to bash Blackout’s helm into the wall. Instead, he stalked past him, grumbling and raging the whole way there. 

Reaching the main room of the base, Megatron spotted all of his Decepticon underlings crowding around a table, whispering amongst themselves. Spotting their approaching leader, all of them snapped to attention.

“My Lord! The Autobot scum left this in the clearing after our battle! It is addressed to you!” Lugnut proclaimed loudly, motioning to the table where a large, unopened package laid. 

Oh...Oh no

Oh  **NO**

_ He recognized that packaging… _

“EVERYONE OUT! NOW!” Megatron roared, the anger burning through his frame twisting his voice into something demented. The others didn’t need to be told twice, practically running over one another to get out of the room as fast as possible. 

Once the room was cleared, Megatron locked all the doors and set the highest security lock possible and turned off all the cameras. 

Megatron looked at the package as if it would bite him. The black and white box was wide and long, but shallow, with a tag roped onto the side, his name sprawled elegantly along it in carefully written glyphs. There was no doubt in his processor who had sent this. With cautious, careful digits, Megatron opened the package, only to drop it with a deafening scream of pure rage. 

“ **_OPTIMUUUUSSS!!_ ** ”

Megatron bolted out of the room, intent on killing the Prime and everything he held dear.

And there, lying on the floor, remained the contents of the packaging.

 

A pair of sheer undergarments, and a purple, frilly maid outfit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated birthday to my commissioner! :D I am finally finishing this at 1:20 AM XD   
> I hope you enjoy my awful humor 
> 
> Word count: 3605


	3. Tension Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is low-key thirsty, Optimus doesn't mind.

**Title** : Rehabilitation 

CH 3

 

**Rating:** M 

Chapter 3: The Tension Rises 

(Warning for robo-smuttyness ahead) 

Megatron wasn’t a good person, and he wasn’t a wimp enough not to admit it. He’d done some bad things,  _ terrible _ things,  **_DISGUSTING_ ** things, in the name of the Decepticon cause. Admittedly, he had done some good things too. His ideals were not made with the inclination to cause a war, just make a change. How was he to know the Autobot’s would take it the wrong way?

Honestly. 

But adding all those things together, he really really didn’t think he deserved being in his current predicament. 

Digits traced up and down seams in his back, charge lacing his fingers like electric strings that pulled at Megatron’s insides. He fought down a shiver. This was… unforeseen.

Megatron didn’t recall how he was captured, or how he was here. His mind was a fog and centered on just one thing, the mech holding him captive. Megatron couldn’t see where he was due to the blindfold that was wrapped around his optics. He couldn’t move, the stasis cuffs pulled his arms behind him, and chains crisscrossed across his frame like corset laces, keeping him locked in place. He couldn’t see the mech that had him but oh, did he just  _ know _ who it was. 

A low chuckle confirmed his belief as his captor spoke. 

“You know Megatron, I wasn’t too sure about this at first. But seeing you like this…” hot breath assaulted Megatron’s audio, causing Megatron to flinch slightly at the suddenness. “... I think it suits you.” Megatron growled, through gag clamp around his mouth, his discomfort transforming into anger. 

“Do you have something to say, Megatron?” the mech tutted. He could hear the smug, cocky grin in the mech’s voice, it both infuriated and made his cooling fans turn on. 

Slag, his cooling fans. Megatron knew the other mech could hear them turn on, and the mech’s chuckle confirmed it. 

“I dare say you are enjoying your treatment, Megatron.” purred the other, a digit tracing Megatron’s face along the edge of his blindfold. He forced back a shiver as the tone of the mech’s voice made a bolt of heat shoot straight down to his interface unit. 

Slag it all. He’d be damned before he gave into a fragging Autobot!!

The blindfold was pulled off and Megatron got a good first look of his captor. 

Optimus almost seemed to preen under the angered gaze of his captive, walking around his prone form with his back straight and helm held high, he knew he had all the power here and was ready and willing to dish it out. The pulse of heat beneath his interface panels was getting rather uncomfortable now and very very irritating. 

The Prime grinned, his walking continuing as he dragged his servo across the broad expanse of Megatron’s back plates, charge tingling at the ends of his digits and teasing at sensitive transformations seames once again. Those digits now dipped beneath his thick armored plating, rubbing directly at the wires hidden beneath them. Curse the Prime’s smaller size! His digits could slip right between his armor plates without hindrance. Blast! What was the use of such heavy plating when it couldn’t even-!

Megatron’s thoughts were interrupted with a sharp gasp that was torn from his frame. The Prime’s deft little digits had worked their way into a very sensitive cluster of wires where his flight mods were attached. A strangled groan was muffled by the gag clamp around his mouth as the Prime relentlessly stroked the bundle of wires there, coming closer to his bound form to press against his back. The height difference was rather drastic, and even in Megatron’s bound state, the other’s helm reached just below mid-back. 

Optimus’s frame was running hot, scalding hot. It wasn’t too sharp a contrast from Megatron’s own frame, which was quickly rising in temperature. The heady scent of arousal was more pungent in the air than he had previously noticed, filling his olfactory sensors in an overwhelming wave that shot lust straight through his frame. 

Frag! This had escalated beyond Megatron’s control, not that he had any to begin with. This Prime would have him reduced to a whimpering mess if he had his way! Megatron was not so weak willed he’d allow such a thing to happen! Or so he told himself. He couldn’t deny the sharp burn of excitement in his chassis that almost over ran the burn of rage, and he couldn’t deny the way his frame was reacting to the Prime’s wandering touches. 

He was very certain that if the Prime undid his interface panel, he'd leave quite a mess, much to his chagrin. 

Oh Frag, those devious blue servos were moving again, this time wrapping around his front. Digits traced small, soothing circles in malleable plating of his abdomen, slowly moving downward. Megatron bit out half-sparked curses into the gag as his control slipped, his frame shifting in the bonds in a half-baked attempt to free himself. His wiggling seemed to amuse the mech behind him, who affectionately nipped the metal plating that his mouth could reach. 

“Relax, let me help you.” Optimus purred, his words oozing confidence and reassurance. Megatron was hard pressed not to comply, but even then his wiggling lessened as Optimus’s servos trails dowwwnnnward.  

The groan he emitted when those servos finally touched his panel was one of relief. His frame was burning up with charge and he had to hastily deny his HUD’s notifications to open his panel. His spark was jumping in its casing and he could not remember ever being so worked up in his life. 

Optimus rubbed firmly against the black panel, drawing more groans from Megatron. He could feel the Prime’s mouth on his back, kissing and biting at plating and mesh. Prime pushed into his him, rubbing their frames flush against the other. He leaned up as far as he could while tugging Megatron to bend backwards, and bit lightly at the wiring at the back of Megatron’s neck.

This elicited a full body shudder from Megatron, his frame seizing up and his interface panel snapping back and his spike springing forward. Megatron squawked in indignant anger behind the gag, though he’d never admit to making such a sound. 

“Marvelous, you are quite nicely proportioned.” Optimus praised, leaning Megatron back so that the larger mech leaned against him. At this angle, the Prime still couldn’t see properly due to height differences, but what he lacked in visual input, he made up for in sensory. 

Megatron let out another groan as Optimus wrapped his servo around his spike, starting at the base and slowly moving to the tip then back. He could feel his resolve crumbling under the light, teasing touch, the ache that lingered deep in his frame finally tasting a fraction of satisfaction. 

“Perhaps I will ride you later, would you like that?” Optimus asked breathily, his servos exploring the large spike, mapping out the unseen with his digits. Megatron’s hips gave an involuntary jerk into the Prime’s servo, answering his question. His thumbs rubbed along the head of the spike, collect the pre fluids that beaded there. He spread the fluid down around the spike, smoothing his strokes as he worked the spike at a torturous pace. 

Torturous for Megatron, who was losing his processor. He bucked up, trying to up the pace, previous withholdings banished from his processor as pleasure sparked at the edges of his frame like fire to parchment. His helm tilted back as he moaned through the gag, frame rocking against Prime’s for friction. Slag, his valve panel was open, too. He could feel the lubricants from his arousal slickening his thighs and dripping down to the floor. 

Optimus adjusted his position, letting his knees come in between Megatron’s legs and allowing the larger mech to grind down on his legs. 

Megatron was aware he was probably making quite a sight of himself, grinding away against an Autobot’s legs while said Autobot worked his spike like an expert. But his lust-clouded processor couldn’t seem to give a damn at the moment. Though he was sure to cause a fuss later. 

Megatron was far too wide a mech for the small Autobot to reach both arms around him to touch his spike, so the crafty little bugger went after Megatron’s sensitive data ports, the ones hidden under his armor on his sides. How the frag did this mech even know those were there? They had been discontinued in every model long before the autobot would have been online. However, the thought slipped away like a wisp of cloud when Prime began to finger the ridges on the underside of his spike, gathering charge sparking at the tips of his digits. 

Everything seemed to be a mad dash for overload after that, frantic bucking and grinding motions on Megatron’s half, while the autobot working his servo along his spike like he was programed to. 

Megatron was pretty sure he was drooling at this point, the gag clamp around his mouth preventing him from swallowing correctly. 

Prefluids leaked from his spike and lubricant rolled down his inner thighs. The crafty mech behind him would sometimes dip his servo down, gathering up lubricants and giving feather-light brushes against his exterior node before returning to his spike, the slide of his servo assisted with his lubricants. His legs were still parted around Prime’s thigh, allowing him to grind his neglected valve against the once pristine white metal, now stained with his fluids. 

Megatron gasped, close to overloading. His chassis heaved with his labored vents, steam escaping the cracks of his frame has coolant evaporated in a vain attempt to lower his temperature. 

The overload hit so hard it was almost painful. The pleasure started in his interface and rocketed through the rest of his frame, pleasure pulling like strings on arms and legs as his convulsed. His servos dented the berth beneath him and a strangled groan was ripped from his vocalizer. He found himself coming down a lot sooner than he wanted, his arms and legs feeling like led. 

Megatron was rather put off by how long it took him to realize something was wrong. 

He was no longer in that foggy room, tied down and at the mercy of his adversary. 

No.

He was in his berth room. 

“SON OF A-!!”

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

Megatron was very moody the rest of the day and his Decepticons picked up on it quickly and avoided him like the plague. He was glad for it, it spared him the embarrassment of having to look them in the optics after his… 

Putting the name to the event made it all the more bitter in his mouth, and Megatron refused. 

That dreaded maid outfit still sat in his room, he had not found a way to get rid of it in a way he’d be sure none of his men stumbled upon it. It was a risk he was unwilling to take. 

Megatron glared at the wall from his throne, as if the wall was the source of all his troubles. His digits relentlessly tapped against the arm of the chair in a dull rhythm that only served to irritate him further, but he continued. He wanted to be mad, it was better than being embarrassed, or worse… 

Megatron shuddered in his seat, casting the thought aside. He refused to acknowledge just how the dream had affected him, how he reacted. He was content changing ‘no no no no’ in his helm like a sparkling running from a bath. Megatron longed to plant his fist in the face of that dreaded Autobot brat, his servos tingled with the anticipation of violence.

Megatron huffed, he’d be damned if he sat here moping! 

The Warlord stood, fulling intending to make his wish come true. 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

“Slaggin’, FRAGGIN AUTOBRAT!” 

Megatron was peeved. 

The Prime was more slippery today than in the past, Megatron just wanted to get his servos on him for one second, but the Prime seemed to have picked up on that and had been dancing right out of his grip for the last 20 minutes. He swiped his servos at the mech, catching only air in his clenched fists. He was lucky enough to encounter the Prime alone, not that his miserable team could make much a difference in this fight besides fragging him off even more. 

Irritating little bugs, the lot of them. 

A part of him longed to feel energon stain his servos, the power that came with taking an adversary's life would be just the thing to sooth his bruised ego at the moment. A soothing balm on his burned pride. He fully intended to lull that ache with the Prime’s death. 

Ah, a sweet though. 

He wanted to feel the crush of the metal beneath his fingers as his servos crushed the spark out of this mech before him, taking the frigid embarrassment and shameful buzz of lusting excitement with it. It was why he had not taken out his swords yet. And, strangely enough, the Prime was not using his axe, at least not in a lethal way. Prime was using the axe to deflect is servos, and also using it to pole-vault away from him when he got too close. It seemed as if this little Prime was determined to keep this dance going until nightfall…

But Megatron had a plan. 

Out here in the wilderness, Megatron had spent a good hour before leading the Prime here surveying the land, learning the layout. And now he was slowly boxing the small mech into a corner and he wasn’t the wizer. 

A steep cliff, one that dropped off to wickedly sharp rocks at the bottom. 

Megatron internally cackle with glee as he cornered his prize, keeping his outward appearance one of rage so he wouldn't tip the other off. But he couldn’t keep the wicked grin off his face when the Prime went to take a step back and his heel met air. 

Prime let out a shout as he tumbled off the side of the cliff, free falling for a second before he activated his grappels to grab the side of the rock face; however, Megatron was ready.

He snatched the ends of Prime’s grappling hooks and would them around his clenched fist before tugging hard, yanking the Prime in the opposite direction of his decent, shaking the mech’s stabilizers out of sync. He had a split second to act, widing the cords tight around him and throwing away the axe. He added a pair of stasis cuffs quickly for extra measure. The prime struggle fiercely before he activated the stasis cuffs and he went limp. 

Oh, Megatron  **_basked_ ** in his glorious victory, finally besting the runt in battle and resetting the score. He let out a long, gleeful laugh, rather high off his win. He leered down at his prisoner.

“Oh, little Prime, you though you could win?” he gloated. 

What he didn’t expect, was for his prisoner to grin slyly up at him. 

“Should have known you’d be into this type of foreplay.” The mech purred.

Megatron sputtered, knocked stupid by the comment.

“W-What?!?” he stuttered at the Prime’s egregious comment. 

“Should have told me you were into bondage, I would have thought of a safe word.” Prime teased.

“WHAT?!?” Megatron would not admit that his voice went up several octaves at that comment. Not, ever. 

“Though I don’t mind, I’m sure I can think of something on the fly. How does ‘Starscream’ sound? Or is that just a mood killer?”  

Megatron had no response, rendered speechless by the crassness of this bot. 

“Or if you’re into gags I could just ping your comm-” 

Megatron’s face had twisted and he gave the mech a shake, cutting off his sentence. 

“Stop that!” he demanded with shout at the saucy little autobot, who smirked up at him. 

“Hmm, surprising…”

“What?!”

“Never took you for the shy type.” 

Megatron was back to sputtering. 

“I am not shy, you unruly Autobot! I never took your kind for having such filthy mouths!” Megatron hissed.

“There is a lot this mouth can do you don’t know about~” Optimus purred.

Megatron was sure his engine had stalled at this point. Burning with embarrassment, Megatron flipped another switch on the stasis cuffs and sent the mech into stasis.

Breathing a sigh of relief when the mech was knocked out, Megatron slung the limp frame over his shoulder. Quickly carting the mech back to base, he left him in his quarters. He had to leave him in there, it was the only place his men dare never go, and he couldn’t have them stumbling on that damned Autobot! Who knows what he’d say to his men.

No, he was not taking that chance. 

His retreat was hasty, dashing out of the room like Unicron himself was on his heels. He deemed the retreat well deserved, for strategic purposes. To throw the mech off. It definitely was NOT because his frame was running at an uncomfortable temperature ever since that blasted Prime uttered those first scandalous words up at him. And it wasn’t because he was getting a processor ache from denying all those notifications to keep his fans from activating. 

And he was damn well going to keep repeating that in his helm till he believed it. 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

He could tell when the Prime woke up. He didn’t know how, but he could. It sent a shameful little burn of anxiousness that he squashed down like a bug. 

He was MEGATRON!! He refused to be bested by an Autobot!

And with that, Megatron stomped into his berth room, ready to crush the ‘bot to a pulp between his servos. 

Oh, how not-ready he was.

“I like the change of location, really adds to the mood.” the Prime purred with a flirtation wink. And like that, Megatron’s determination was out the window and running for the hills. 

He stood there in broody silence, glaring daggers at the bot that could rile him up with just a few words. 

 

It was hardly the first time anyone had said such things to him. Perhaps not in this context, but being the Supreme Leader of the Decepticons meant he had quite the mass of admirers. Either those yearning for his power, or star-struck warriors hoping to lay with fame. However, he’d never been one to tolerate brassiness, and quickly set up a an unspoken set of rules: those must come to him with utmost respect and submissiveness. Not that he made it a habit to lay with his men, he’d always been the one on top.

But the nerve of this Autobot! It riled him up in the worst of ways. 

 

Megatron growled, dangerous and low in his throat. Prime seemed unimpressed, if the quirk of his optical brow indicated anything. 

“Why?” Megatron asked. This seemed to throw the Prime through a loop.

“Why?” Prime echoed back.

“Yes! Why? Why do you insist on your… your improper advances?” Megatron hissed, hackles raised as he glared accusingly at the Prime. Prime was silent, seeming to think on his words for a long moment before replying. 

“Hmm, while improper, certainly, I took you for one to appreciate candid propositions.” 

“Propositions?!” 

“Yes, what else would I have implied?” it was Megatron’s turn to be silent, huffing at the unhinged mentality of it all, but, surprisingly, calming down. 

“As I appreciate plain-spoken proposals from fellow Decepticons, I do not take kindly to such from my adversaries. Especially not those whom detained me under such  _ humiliating _ circumstances.” he bit out, and Prime had the decency to look abashed before a serious look took over. 

“I will admit my methods were unorthodox, but I had just got over with a rather gruesome battle with you, in which one of my dear friends offlined. Can you blame me for wishing for some form of revenge?” Slag, no he couldn't. “And I at least had the decency to do it in private.” 

Megatron grumbled, giving the Autobot a thoughtful look over. The Autobot wiggled what parts of his frame he could. 

“Now… if we are done with the interrogation, I would quite like to go back to what we were doing before.” Prime purred suggestively. Megatron scoffed.

“And if I refuse to participate?” he grouced. Prime shrugged.

“Then we don’t,” Prime stated simply before grinning again, “but I have a sneaking suspicion you’d like to continue.”

“Don’t flatter yourself!” Megatron bit out, embarrassment burning in his chassis and the Prime’s dumbly truthful words. 

He was under such a dilemma. Here he was, Autobot in one servo, his pride in another. Now it was just a war to see whom would win his action. Under other circumstances, Megatron would balk at his current behavior. Somewhere deep, deep down inside him, his logical part was roaring at him to think with his helm not his interface. But Frag! He’d been so frustrated these past cycles. By an Autobot no less! 

He didn’t think he could go on and NOT blow a fuse. 

Megatron tapped his digits restlessly against the side of his leg as the stared the Prime down (who was still wiggling what parts he could in hopes to entice the indecisive Warlord), weighing his options. It was a good five minutes before Megatron’s resolve cracked. 

Grumbling to himself (just so he could later claim that he wasn't  **_too_ ** eager), Megatron moved to the berth where the now extremely smug Prime had been thrown down earlier. 

“This means nothing,” Megatron hissed at the Prime, who hummed in response, his optics twinkling with mischievousness. 

“Of course not,” Optimus crooned, his frame arching up as Megatron deactivated the stasis function on the cuffs. This allowed Prime to move about better, but he was still shackled. 

Large black servos slowly reached out to touch a light grey grill between the cords of the grappling hooks, digits tracing along the vents, moving up to feel across the smooth pane of glass across the Prime’s chassis. Prime made an appreciative noise. Megatron had to admit that, even though he detested Earth and everything on it, the Prime’s Earth mode vehicle did his frame justice. The spark of excitement that had refused to go out caught as Prime let out a breathy moan as his digits traced over the headlights and back down to the Prime’s waist. 

Megatron was standing at at awkward angle, leaning over the berth. Knowing that this wouldn’t be the ideal way to continue, he moved over the berth, his legs straddling the smaller mech’s legs. He didn’t place any of his weight on him, however, not wanting to crust him before the real fun began. 

Prime grinned up at him. “Now this is a nice view, at this angle you could grind your valve against me, you know.” he purred, and Megatron huffed. 

“Must you insist on such lewis comments?” the Warlord muttered.

“I rather like talking during interface, makes it less awkward.” 

“And talking about your adversary grinding their valve against you isn’t awkward?” Megatron quipped, raising an optical brow, but returning to his exploration of the other’s frame. He wouldn’t admit it, but the words brought up flashes of his dream last night, and oh Primus, did it make is armor quake. 

“Not at all, I’ve said much worse.” Prime hummed up at him with a devilish grin, “done worse, too.” Megatron scoffed at the other’s boasting, all previous withholdings, preservations, and hesitation at this slowly fading away at the banter. He was still irritated that this little Autobot had gotten under his armor, but he’d let it slide for now. 

Instead he focused on unwinding the Prime from the cords that bound his frame, leaving on the cuffs. Prime released a sigh full of relief.

“Thank goodness, those were digging into every seam.” Megatron spread his servos along the other’s chassis, the size difference making them almost cover the entirety of it. He leaned his helm down and licked a hot, wet strip up the center seam of Prime’s chassis, right over his spark and causing his optics to flutter shut.

There was something far more satisfying, in a rough primitive way, to lay with his advisory over others. The taboo nature of it set a thrum through his gyrospheres, making his processor spin to overcompensate for the lack of proper data. It buzzed pleasantly, each moment his servos touched the other, his glossia painted over his curves, his hips grinding against anything within reach. And like that and he was addicted already. Damn.

“Oh-oh frag.. Keep that up.” Prime groaned, his bound servos reaching up and locking around Megatron’s helm, the cuffs clinking against the armor on the back of his helm. Didn’t he lock them in place? Or not? Frag, he couldn't remember. Megatron shrugged off the thought, going back to nip and lick at the smaller mech’s chassis, trailing kisses up to his neck. His hot vents ghosted over the cables, his sensors picking up the accelerated pumping of energon through them. 

Megatron preened a bit, knowing that Optimus was as affected as he. 

He took one of the main cables in his mouth and gave it a light bite, rolling it lightly between his teeth and sucking down on it until a large mark was left and the mech under him was panting. He then did the same to the other side, taking his sweet time. He was very determined to make Optimus feel just as he did before, a little sweet payback for his wounded pride. 

Megatron’s large servos trailed down Optmus’s sides, toying with semes and scratching lightly at thinner plating to stimulate the wires beneath. Optimus was wiggling now, his arms still wound tightly around Megatron’s helm and holding him in place. He didn’t mind this, it gave him ample opportunities to place lavash kisses along Prime’s jaw. After what seemed to be forever, toying with the smaller mech, his servos landed on a shorching blue interface. Prime was really moving now, his frame scooting down the berth slightly at his energetic movements. This pulled a low chuckle from Megatron. 

This, this is what he was used to, this was safe waters. Him on top, leading the way. Everything would be perfe-

It was with a startled yelp from Megatron, and a low grunting heave from Optimus, and their positions flipped. The warlord stared up at the grinning Prime in utter bafflement, completely unprepared for the sudden change.  

“For a fearson warmonger, you are very unobservant.” Optimus jibbed, that ever-present smugness just  _ oozing _ through his voice. That was when it clicked. Curse that Prime! He wasn’t wiggling from his own ministrations, dratted Prime was moving into a better position to throw him on his back!

Megatron scowled fiercely at Optimus, who was still smug, but didn’t move them back. 

“You must have been pretty deep in your own thoughts, im not that good of an actor,” Prime continued, a light chortal coming into the end. Megatron’s scowl intensified. 

“You seem rather pleased with yourself either way.” He replied peevishly, his servos settling on the other’s slim waist. 

“Not everyday you catch  _ Lord _ Megatron off guard” Optimus said, before adding coyly, “though I seem to have a knack for it.” Megatron didn’t think the corners of his lips could go any further down than they were.

He was wrong. 

Optimus seemed unaffected as he chuckled to himself. He then gave a good wiggle of his hips, startling Megatron into a gasp as it ground against his buring interface panel. 

“Though,” optimus purred lowly, “If given the chance to make it up to you…” he trailed off, his cuffed servos coming down to wiggle into the space between their hips. 

Damn, he couldn’t say no to that. 

Optimus shifted downward on his larger frame, fitting snugly between his parted thighs. Part of Megatron was grateful for the size difference, or this would have been a little more troublesome to coordinate. 

“Cuffs stay on,” Megatron grunted, reaching over the side of the berth to fiddle with something out of view. 

“Of course.” Optimus’s voice was still in a purr, his optics looking on in curiosity as Megatron felt around the underside. His digits connected with what he was looking for, and with a small turn of a dial, the upper half of the berth sat up into a comfortable lounging position. This gave Megatron’s back better support and allowing him to watch what the Prime did. 

“That’s better, now I can see what your craftly little self does.” Megatron said, almost accusatory.

“Me? Craftly? Hardly.” Prime blinked up at him innocently, a impish look gleaming in his optics. This cause Megatron to snort. 

“Says he who manhandled me into a human service garb.” 

Optimus did not respond, instead, focusing his attention to the panel before him. Two servos were places lightly on it’s burning surface, digits tracing light circles into the metal. Megatron groaned at the contact, his optics sliding shut as he let himself recline back comfortably. 

The Prime knew what he was doing, digits moving with purpose, dipping between every seam and plucking at every cluster of wires. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time before his panel popped open, his spike springing free, unable to refuse the command notifications on his HUD. 

Optimus made an appreciative noise, optics raking over the spike like it was a fine work of art. Megatron could gloat a bit, he did have a fine unit. It was appropriately long and thick as a warframe of his size and stature should be, the base far thicker than the fat, darkly colored head. The underside was black and ribbed generously. A blue transfluid line glowed at the underside, trailing from tip to base. There were two red biolights on either side, thin stripes that seperated the black from the gunmetal gray top. A sparse number of polar nodes dotted his spike in geometric patterns and added to the overall imposing look. The nodes where a sort of magnet that he could control, positive or negative charges that he sent could chanel a larger than normal currant and make for impressive overloads for both him and his partner. 

Overall, he was rather proud of his spike. 

Optimus seemed to share this appreciation, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“Your valve, too.” Optimus coaxed, one servo laying over the closed panel that rested further between his legs. Megatron was only slightly (SLIGHTLY) apprehensive about this. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being touched there, it just didn’t happen often.  At least not often enough for him to expect the smaller mech to request it. His dreams were one thing, real life what a whole other. 

But he abided anyway. 

“Gorgeous.” Optimus said breathily, as if all the air had left him in a whoosh. Megatron flushed at that, shifting slightly where he lay. 

His valve was the same colors as his spike, his exterior node was black in color, with a bright red bionode right in the center. Other strips of biolights lined his valve lips and disappeared within his valve, where they, to Megatron’s knowledge, formed a spiral pattern around his kalapiters. The valve lips were gunmetal gray and already flush as exsess energon from his arousal pulsed through them and a good amount of lubricants coated the whole interface unit, excess liquids trailing down his inner thighs and dripping onto the berth. 

Optimus was, once again, admiring him like his interface was a fine painting. Megatron decided he was quite done with the appraisal, and wiggled his hips with a pointed look to the mech near them. 

Optimus started slow, but not teasingly or tortiously. His servos held his spike in a firm grip and slowly pumped the malable mesh. A low moan slipped past Megatron’s lips, his optics half shuttered as he watched the other. 

Optimus’s grip was firm but not overly so, he held Megatron’s spike in such reverence it was close to worship. And in one move, Optimus let go of the spike and reached up to his own mouth. His glossia darted past his lips, coating blue digits in oral fluids. His dim optics were locked with Megatron’s as he coated each and every digit. 

The warlord’s engine rubbled deeply, enough to vibrate the berth with its intensity. He growled at the Prime, who gave him a cheeky grin, until he continued. 

The oral fluids gave his spike a much appreciated glide, Prime’s moves were smoother and didn’t chafe the mesh anymore. His venting was getting harder, especially as prefluids leaked from the tip of his spike and Prime was there to catch it with those clever little digits and spread it along his length.

Oh, he was so much smaller than him, he needed two servos to wrap fully around Megatron’s gerth and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug for it.  

Prime’s movements grew a little faster, his thumbs moving to massage the tip every now and then before going all the way down the the base and giving a little squeeze. Megatron’s mouth had dropped open at this point as the Prime worked him up, his ventings too laborious for his fans alone. 

“Hmm, you are beautiful like this, so lost in pleasure and sensation.” The Prime crooned, making Megatron twitch, either in embarrassment or pleasure, who knew. “The way you look, hmm the sounds you make. I could stay here all cycle just to listen to your sounds roll like that. Like the peak of a summer thunderstorm.”

“M-Must you speak?” Megatron huffed between breaths. He wasn’t a loud berth partner, but his engines roared with the force of a hurricane. It was commented to him before, a long time ago, that he could make any mech or femme weak in the knees if he got his timber right. 

“If I don’t, how will I let you know just how you affect me? How much I wish to see you come undone by my servos.” Prime purred, a slight leer in his tone. 

Frag the crassness of this bot! Never before did he have such a partner! 

Megatron went to speak, a sharp ended rebuttal right on the tip of his glossia, but his words were stolen from the edge of his mouth as the Prime used his. 

Mimicking Megatron’s previous movements, Prime bent down and licked his spike from base to tip. His glossia rubbed against the head of his spike firmly, collecting the excess prefluids and giving a humm of contentment and a cheeky smile around his protruding glossia. 

It was by sheer willpower that Megatron didn’t buck straight up into his mouth. A few groaned curses tumbled out of his own mouth as his servos reached forward and layed on Prime’s shoulders, carefully placed to not obstruct Optimus’s movements, but enough to show that he was eager for more. 

“Damn you, Prime.” He said, a weak irritation in his voice, drawing a chuckle from the other. Prefluids and lubricant flowed freely as Prime worked his spike with his glossia and servos, little droplets falling off in all directions as blue servos move quickly. His breath was staggered, coming out in hard huffs that shook him down to his struts. His legs were tense as pleasure swirled inside him, its focal point the apex of his legs. At one point, Prime dipped his helm down further, taking the tip of his spike into his mouth and causing Megatron to wheeze. 

His spike was too large for the much smaller Autobot, so not much fit inside Prime’s mouth, just slightly past the head, about a fourth of the grand total. But it was enough. 

Prime’s lips pulled back, covering over his teeth to keep them from scraping against the sensitive mesh as he worked the spike with viggor. Megatron could feel the light pressure of where the lips were pushed against his spike, circling around what they could. He could feel the tip of his spike rubbing against the soft ridges at the top of Prime’s mouth and silky smooth slide of the glossia at the bottom. 

His grip on the Prime’s shoulders tightened and he could feel the small dents he was making in the armor. 

Prime was still looking up at him, a wicked glint in his optics as he bobbed his helm and moved his bound servos across his spike. 

But all too suddenly, Optimus drew back.

Megatron blinked at him in confusion and at the sudden loss of sensation. 

“I wish to try something.” Prime said as Megatron opened his mouth. This cause Megatron to raise one optical brow high.

“We’re in a bit of the early stages for uncharted exploration, don’t you think?” he said dubiously, wondering what the Prime was going to request.

“I’m hardly asking you to do anything outrageously kinky.” Prime scoffed.

“I’m loath to think what  **_you’d_ ** find outrageously kinky.”

“Just hush and hear me out,” Prime replied, “and you might find you like it.” 

Megatron huffed before nodding his helm in approval. 

Prime shifted a little, getting into a better kneeling position than before. Leaning forward, he braced the majority of his weight on his arms against Megatron’s hips. This left Optimus’s arms circled around his extended spike, which was so close, it almost brushed against Prime’s cheek.

“Now, grab either side of my helm.” Optimus instructed. Megatron was about to sputter, but one look from Optimus made him do as instructed. Prime’s optics were wicked, filled with fire that scorched the spark and melted his insides. Once his servos rested against either side of the Prime’s helm, the size almost engulfing him, he spoke again.

“Now, i want you to direct my movements. Move your servos to move me up and down.”

“You want me to face frag you?” Megatron said incredulity.

“Not as rough or crazed as I know you are thinking,” Optimus chuckled. “Start out slow and we’ll see where it takes us, don’t go too deep or I’ll gag and neither of us want that. If i need to be let up or for you to stop, I'll tap your hip twice.” Megatron gave him a long look, searching the other’s face for any emotion other that competence. After finding no negative emotions, Megatron nodded. 

“Good! Lets begin.”

It started slow, Megatron slowly pushing and pulling on the Prime’s helm to direct him up and down, so shallowly on his spike it teased his sensors. He was very apprehensive, hurting berth partners was definitely on his “do-not-do” lists and this instance was no different. It was like this for awhile, until Prime tapped him twice and he let go quickly.

Optimus gave him a slightly irked look.

“I’m not made of glass, you know.” he said and Megatron scowled at him and Optimus mimicked him with a bit of exaggeration.

Sassy Prime, got on his last nerve, he really did.

“Fine.” Megatron grunted as Prime stared him down. Getting back into position, they began again, starting slow, but moving on far quicker than before, but still careful.

Megatron couldn’t deny that this was exhilarating, the push and pull as he set his own pace, the drag of those lips across his spike and slickness of his glossia. It was incomparable.

The heat, the tension, watching Prime move of his volition, in such a vulnerable position that left Megatron both flattered and empowered. He was quick in his movements now, never hitting the back of the mouth, but rubbing the tip of his spike along the soft ridges along the top of Prime’s mouth. Each movement sent a spark of pleasure up his frame, the sparks catching and starting a fire that raced through his frame and made his spark thump hard in its casing. It felt like he was on top of universe, looking down on all that was his. Like he was on the battlefield, roaring in victory as his enemies flee before him and adrenaline coursed through his lines. He was powerful, he was unstoppable. 

And all it took to break that was one look from the Prime. 

Prime was in charge here, he was calling the shots, not Megatron. His digits played him like a fine harp, his discretion carried the tune, his mouth commanded the armies that ripped apart his universe. Until nothing remained but them.

Megatron didn’t know why, but that made the fire blaze even higher, until the previous flame was nothing but a single candle in its presence 

His pleasure built, hovering on the edge of release like standing a trap door rattling on its hinges, just waiting to fall. All it took was a particularly deft curl of Prime’s glossia and he was undone. 

A roar tore past his lips, the loudest he’d ever been in the berth, the sound coming from somewhere deep and primitive in its make that left him sore and hoarse. His engine was just as loud in release. The pleasure pulsed in time with his erratic spark, radiating up his legs and cutting at his chassis, making him tense further. His frame curled in on itself as he shook through his overload, helm hovering near Prime’s.

Prime had pulled back just before, letting the thick, hot stream of transfluid to spill out into the open, running down his servos and splattering across the both of them. It was a very hard overload, one built up over a long time of sexual frustration and confusion. 

During his time captured by the Autobots, and the time after, Megatron had refused to self service. This was mainly due to the fact that the damn Prime would creep up into his thoughts whenever he tried, and he’d get too enraged (read: embarrassed) to continue. So the strength of this overload wasn’t entirely unexpected. 

Megatron also wasn’t surprised when he came down from the overload and was almost spent. It felt like he had been sucker punched in the chassis as all his limbs slowly unclenched from before. His engine rattled and Megatron noted, with slight embarrassment, that even his flight engine had came on. 

Prime didn’t seem to notice the sudden exhaustion of the Warlord, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. In fact, he did the opposite. 

Without giving Megatron even a moment to breath, he was on him again, this time, aiming for the previously overpassed valve, devouring him like a mech starved. And Megatron could only think one thing:

Holy slag. 

 

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

 

It was 4am Earth time when Megatron’s systems rebooted, confused. He blinked up at the ceiling, his ceiling. 

When had he fallen into stasis?

As his groggy systems tromped to catch up with him, he remembered. 

A lot of interfacing. Optimus Prime, eating him out and sucking him off over and over again until Megatron was overstimulated and completely wrecked. He had lost count of how many times he had overloaded. Prime had a wicked pair of hands and an even more wicked mouth. He never let Megatron overload into his mouth from his spike. Said that the texture of transfluid didn’t agree with his tactile sensors. Megatron had agreed on that. 

Prime had never asked for anything in return either, he remembered, and any attempt that Megatron made to pleasure him was declined. He just kept going down on Megatron until the warlord couldn’t muster the energy to even move a servo. 

He must have dropped into stasis in the middle of it. 

The berth was still reclined upwards, allowing Megatron to look around the room. The Prime wasn’t there, but that didn’t surprise him. If it had been him in the Prime’s place, he would have done the same. 

Megatron didn’t know the extent of Prime’s escape however, until he looked down at himself. 

He was clean of all bodily fluids, and it even looked like he was buffed in some areas that had been dull before. 

But the real damage was what sat at the apex of his legs, over his closed interface. 

A pair of sheer panties and a note pinned to them. 

‘ _ Thanks for the fun time ;) _ ’

  
  


“I hate him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7372 words B)   
> i was going to add on to the last bit, draw out OP eating our beloved, flustered Warlord out. but it was already over 7000 words at that point LOL
> 
> sorry for the delay on this, had some IRL problems that i wont go into details, but someone close to me died and it was rough :/   
> But that's why i made this extra long a juicy!!
> 
> Anyway! I hope you like this chapter! i had a blast writing it  
> Also! is it kalapiters that are in the valve? i know its something similar sounding, but i couldnt for the life of me find the proper spelling/word


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